Through Reyna's Eyes: The Praetor's Story
by Caitey
Summary: Reyna is praetor of Camp Jupiter. She knows she was born to be a leader. But after the inexplicable disappearance of Jason Grace, whom she has secretly loved, and the arrival of Percy Jackson, she feels like she's on the verge of breaking down. But she is a leader. And she must forge on. This is Reyna's journey. Reviews and follows, please! :)
1. Leadership's Spirit

**Chapter One**

**_"Leadership's Spirit"_**

_Leader leads with a heart  
that charms one to act  
With prudence and tact  
Not with a tongue that hurts  
Like a dagger's scratch_

_—Leadership's Spirit, _Melvin Banggollay—

My royal purple cloak flutters in the wind. As per usual, I am dressed in standard praetorian fashion: sturdy gold breastplate studded with medals, and a flowing toga, elegantly draped, which is the same colour purple as my cloak.

My mother is Bellona. Warrior goddess. In my head, I hear her, along with my sister Hylla, chiding me for what I am about to do.

But I cannot help it. After all, I am a teenage girl. I discreetly check my reflection in the glimmering lake water.

Despite the breeze, my hair is doing quite nicely. Long and dark, half-pinned up and half in curling waves, it frames my face in a flattering matter, if I do say so myself. My eyes, however, are big and dark, my jaw firm...

I am not so sure if I am pretty or not. Because my mother is a warrior goddess, I suppose it wouldn't have to matter to me. But it does. It _does_.

I find myself reminiscing about spending my days in Circe's spa with Hylla. She was an excellent role model, an excellent older sister. I remember her telling me that I was...striking. Yes, that was the word. "Not exactly pretty, but striking," she'd say, as she had braided my hair beautifully every morning, both of us facing the intricate gold-framed mirror in our room back at the spa. "You needn't worry," she'd laugh. "Your features are regal. Like a queen. It would make you a great leader, some day. No one wants a silly, vain biddy on a throne.

And Hylla was right. Here I am now, praetor of New Rome. After the pirates had kept us captive, that horrid day so many years ago, Hylla and I had gone our separate ways.

I was praetor. She was Queen of the Amazons.

I do not hear much from her anymore. But I have learned enough from her.

She'd always advised me not to show any weakness. "No one wants to look straight in a leader's eye, needing help, to find their own fear reflected there," she'd say. Because of this, I have learned to mask my features. Learned to formulate successful battle strategy. Learned to be firm, and just.

Learned to not show any weakness.

Because I can't say I don't have one. I do. I truly do. But a leader mustn't show it.

Behind my back, I know I am greatly admired yet greatly feared by the inhabitants of New Rome, Camp Jupiter. They like that I am fair. Yet they think I should 'loosen up'.

I try to balance. But again, Hylla's words of wisdom echoes in my ears, and I become more praetor-like than ever.

I sigh at my reflection. Being a leader is a privilege. But it is also a curse.

_You are always alone._

Suddenly, a growl snaps me out of my reverie. I turn around to see Argentum and Aurum. They are my machine greyhounds, Silver and Gold, each with a pair of ruby eyes and deadly pointed veneers. A gift from a god, years ago. They exhibit extreme watchdog senses, for which I'm grateful, as well as the ability to tell whether one is lying or not.

"Easy, guys," I say, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"Reyna?" I hear a voice behind me call out.

I whirl around, trying not to act too surprised. Not that there is anything wrong with it, but because I am a leader, and I should not show too much emotion. _Wow, I really should loosen up._

"Reyna?" The voice is questioning, respectful, yet underneath that somewhat sincere tone I detect haughtiness.

"Octavian," I sigh, then quickly compose myself. I don't like Octavian much. I know, I know, I'm a praetor. I should be fair. But Octavian is power-hungry, with a taste for being leader, much like the man he was named after. He will make a good leader in a certain light, but I'm afraid that he would be one of those to seek their gain, weighing it over the conditions of those whom they lead. He may seem charming and good-intentioned at first, but after observing his actions (as a leader must), he seems to be as sly as a serpent underneath all that innocent exterior.

He runs his fingers through his short blond hair. "Praetor Reyna," he announces formally, "I have checked the auguries once more. No sign of him."

"No sign of Jason Grace?" I try to keep the disappointment and worry out of my voice, and only show the slight displeasure of a proper praetor.

"No, Praetor Reyna." Octavian clears his throat. "You know what this means, though..."

I shoot him a look of ice. "No, I don't, so you better explain yourself."

At this, Octavian straightens up, his thin, pale frame snapping. "Well, Jason—Praetor Jason, rather," he hastily corrects himself, after seeing the look on my face, "has not returned. And there has been no sign of him, when I summoned the gods. If he doesn't return, well..." He shrugs—lightly, casually. "We'll need a new praetor. Not that you're not doing an excellent job on your own, Praetor Reyna. But, well, we need another praetor, and..." His voice trails off.

"Let me guess," I say, and I can see that his sly, pale-blue eyes light up visibly. "You're—"

"Interested," we both say at the same time. "Yes. Yes, I am." Octavian smiles unnervingly.

I close my eyes and sigh, trying to appear disappointed instead of totally stressed-out. "We've been through this, Octavian."

"But—"

"Jason Grace will be back," I said, trying to sound firm instead of desperate and like I'm convincing myself. "In the meantime-"

"We've made a deadline, haven't we?" Octavian challenges, extremely politely, though I am not fooled. "Six days until the Feast of Fortuna, then elections. And, well, after all those months, wouldn't you say we're out of time?"

"Octavian—"

"I have done my duties to New Rome well," he says calmly, but I know he is on the verge of losing himself. I turn to look at him. "And, well, I'd like to be praetor, Reyna. Wouldn't you agree, after all I've done?"

_My blessing_, I tell myself. _He wants my blessing._ As if I haven't realized that he has been campaigning himself ever since my colleague disappeared. "Of course, Octavian," I say, sounding soothing and firm at the same time. "But—" I pause. "We shall see."

Octavian's voice is stilted, yet still polite. "Very well, Praetor. Very well." And he turns and goes, leaving me all alone beside the lake, flanked by my robotic dogs.

* * *

I sometimes felt like I was going mad. I know I was born to be a leader. But now, everything is falling apart. Nothing is in its place.

Once, I was alone. I governed solely, bearing the burden of New Rome on my shoulders.

Then there was Jason.

He was Jupiter's son. He was tall and strong, with blond hair the colour of gold. Blue eyes that twinkled even though he wasn't laughing. An infectious sense of humour, and plenty of charisma. Like me, he was a leader. But unlike me, he was more lenient.

But Jason helped me. He was my partner. New Rome was soon governed by two Praetors. And it kept Camp balanced.

I always thought that I could hide my emotions. But it didn't mean that I didn't have them.

I soon fell in love with Jason Grace, the boy who was lonely yet strong, who governed like a true Senator of Rome.

The very boy who was missing now.

_Stop it. Stop it! _I tell myself, as my eyes begin to tear up. _I _am _a leader. I should not act like this._

I bring my hand to my eyes to wipe them. I know that I loved him from afar, and who knows, maybe he just saw me as a friend.

But I make a firm decision. If—no, _when_—Jason is found, or when he is returned, I will tell him that I love him. With all my heart.

"Ugh!" I say to myself, out loud, but only because I know that I am alone. My dogs look at me with worry—well, if robots had emotions, anyway.

_Jason _has _to return_, I told myself. _He will. He will. He _will!

I will not let Octavian, sly, slithering serpent that he is, rule New Rome.

Octavian claims that he can read the auguries. Except when this was done in ancient times, the prophets would slaughter animals, offer the entrails to the gods, that they may send a message.

However, since of course we do not have any animals to slaughter, (nor _want _to slaughter them, for that matter) Octavian settled with _stuffed animals_.

I am _not _joking. _Stuffed_ animals.

He still keeps up his claim, though. "I was descended from the god of prophecy, blah blah blah!"

The mountain of ripped-up stuffed animals is a disturbing sight.

I am not sure whether to believe Octavian, or not. Though I have chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt, just for this matter.

I sigh and make my way to the _principia_, where we shall have a meeting—mostly about Jason Grace, and who might rule in his stead. I brace myself for the worst.

* * *

Five minutes into the meeting, Octavian turns on his (fake) charm and starts going on and on about how it's horrible that Jason, amazing praetor that he is, is gone, yet he is _interested _in filling in for him.

I sit in my high-backed chair, facing everyone, and resist the urge to strangle him. Who did he think he was, anyway?

_A leader_. Octavian is cunning enough to campaign for himself, to buy or blackmail people into 'loyalty'—not that I have hardcore evidence, but I _am _aware of what's happening. It is no use to try and stop the inevitable.

I try not to squirm in my seat. At this point, it is useless to show weakness.

Octavian wraps up his little speech with a smile, then turns to me with an icy look in his calculating blue eyes. "And now, Praetor Reyna, if you may…"

And that's when I smile. Not a cheerful smile, nor a cold one, but a leader's smile—firm and just, as I should be. "We lament the loss of our Praetor, Jason Grace—"

"_Former _praetor," Octavian mutters under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear him.

I silently count to ten before I continue, not wanting to abruptly jump of my high seat and smack him senseless. "Because the Feast of Fortuna is in six days, we shall have another election, election for praetor.

"And—" I muster myself to speak the fair words that pain me. "I support Octavian in his decision."

I can't help but notice the gleeful look in Octavian's eyes. It's what he wanted. I keep telling myself that Jason _will _come back.

_But what if he doesn't?_

No. I must not lose hope now.

The meeting adjourns, then. Everybody leaves.

* * *

That night, after governing the usual duties of Camp, I head to my bunker.

I am so ready to sleep. All day long we planned the war games that would take place the following day, and I need to rest.

I nod regally at passing kids from the First Cohort before entering my room. Yes, it is a tiring job to be a leader.

But when I close my eyes and try to sleep, dreams came.

I was a little girl again. Running to and fro in the witch Circe's spa, chased by my sister Hylla.

"Reyna!" she calls out, trying to appear stern, but betrayed by the lovely peal of laughter that keeps escaping from her mouth. "Reyna, come back, the visitors will be displeased."

"Catch me if you can!" I call back, giggling, hiking up my skirt that I may run faster.

Those were the best days of my life. I was young and free, with my sister, safe at Circe's spa, where she was willing to teach us magic. There was no need to learn how to fight, no need to battle for survival, no need to exert myself as a leader and hide my weaknesses.

And that's when the dream shifted.

Now I was alone. Barefoot. Standing in the darkness.

"Reyna," I voice behind me says. I whirl around, my hands outstretched, trying to make my way in the darkness.

Suddenly the voice cackles. "Reyna," it says maliciously, "it's Juno."

_Juno Moneta? The goddess? _I try keeping cool, but it doesn't work. "Ye—yes, milady?"

The goddess laughs evilly. "Reyna, do you remember Percy Jackson?"

I freeze in my tracks—I haven't heard _that _name in a long time. However, when I speak again, my voice is firm. "Yes, lady."

The goddess giggles. "He is coming to Camp tomorrow, Reyna. He's coming."

_No. _The guy who set free Blackbeard and all the pirates after us? The guy who ruined my life? I give up trying to be calm. "What?!"

"He is coming," the voice repeats, "to Camp Jupiter."

And that's when I wake up in cold sweat. Because I know demigod dreams, and they are always true.


	2. Percy Jackson

**DISCL****AIMER: **I do not own anything, this is just a fanfic, all credit goes to Rick Riordan. :)

**Chapter Two**

**_"Percy Jackson"_**

_Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?  
Whence have you flown down to us?  
Taciturn and without a sound  
Why have you abandoned us?  
Where are you? Where is your dwelling?  
What are you, where did you go?  
Why did you appear,  
Heavenly, upon the Earth?_

_—The Mysterious Visitor, _Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky_—_

"Good morning, Praetor Reyna," Larry, a high-positioned centurion from the Second Cohort says to me as I pass by. "I trust that you slept well?"

I fake a smile. "Yes, I did," I lie.

All of the campers of New Rome head to the barracks of the Via Praetoria, and assemble. Dressed in gold armour over their purple shirts and jeans, they all look forbidding.

Just like every morning, Octavian begins the ceremony. The standard bearers march forward, clad in their lion-skin cloaks, holding their cohort's emblems. Last to present is Jacob, who is supposed to be the eagle-bearer. As usual, he is empty-handed; the eagle, which is our symbol, was lost years ago. Nevertheless, I still insist on following tradition, despite the protests and the wave of disappointment that passes through the campers all the time.

Finally, the ceremony is over. Octavian turns to me expectantly.

"Cohorts," I call out, "you have one hour for breakfast. Then, to your normal activities at Camp. Good fortune!"

Everybody cheers, then, and heads for the mess hall.

And everything is fine. All is according to plan. Percy Jackson hasn't even showed up.

_A leader must always be prepared_ suddenly runs through my mind. I hastily shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought.

"Praetor Reyna," I hear a voice say. It is Octavian, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "You look rather...ill. Are you quite alright?"

I face Octavian and force a regal smile. "Certainly. Yes. Thank you for asking." As if he really cared. He was probably interested in replacing _me_, too.

Octavian refuses to drop it, though, because next he adds, "Are you sure? Because...well, there is a chance that you have received an ill omen from the gods?"

Now, this is why leaders can't show any weakness. Because there are people like Octavian who feed on it hungrily, trying to use it best to their leverage. "No, Octavian." I make my voice more solid than the walls that protect Camp.

"Very well," Octavian says lightly, but I can tell he doesn't entirely believe me.

I begin wondering whether Octavian's 'gift of prophecy' is true, after all.

* * *

The rest of the day is uneventful. Or so I think. Octavian brings me the daily report from the auguries ("No sign of Jason Grace! Pity, isn't it?") and another torn-up stuffed animal is added to the pile at Temple Hill. Campers train hard, and prepare for the war games later that night.

And it isn't until after lunch that disaster starts.

I really would like to blame Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque. Though I won't, because I am a leader, and a leader is fair.

Sixteen-year-old Frank Zhang is half-Canadian, I think, and also half-Chinese. His godly parent, though, hasn't been discovered yet. Also, he is on _probatio. _Frank has a good heart, yet I think his clumsiness will be the death of him. He only got here last month, and upon arrival, sought me. He explained that his great-grandfather was Shen Lun, a legacy of Poseidon who was believed to have caused the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. He then asked for forgiveness; I gave it to him readily, though I did advise him not to mention it to anyone. Especially Octavian, who might use it as leverage.

Hazel Levesque, on the other hand, is a thirteen-year-old girl with rich dark skin, wildly curling chocolate-coloured hair, and golden eyes. Being a daughter of Pluto, people get suspicious. Her half-brother, Nico, shows up sometimes, too—they call him an ambassador of Pluto. She earned a medal of valour for saving Frank Zhang's life once, thought that's that.

Both Frank and Hazel are in the Fifth Cohort—a Cohort which is widely believed to be filled with 'bad luck'. I don't mind them much, really, except they were in charge of guarding Camp Jupiter then.

And they let Percy Jackson in.

_Percy Jackson. _The name, even after all these years, still gives me the shivers and the urge to punch a wall. He was the one who set free the pirates the sorceress Circe kept, enabling them to capture most of us, including me and Hylla. Luckily, we were the daughters of Bellona. We learned to fight.

But it didn't change the fact that he ruined my life.

If it weren't for him, I'd still be with Hylla. Back at Circe's spa. We wouldn't need to learn how to fight. We'd be happy, satisfied. And in my heart of hearts, it is what I am guilty of most—that I'd prefer to live in peace, surrounded by luxury, than to honour Bellona's courage and skills.

Anyway, I hear a commotion around late in the afternoon. Frank Zhang, like I said, is one of the sentries, and he begins shooting arrows like mad at what looks like a gorgon.

Then Hazel comes, running faster than a drug lord with the police after him. Her kinky hair flies around her small brown face, and her golden eyes are wide with horror. Her helmet is gone.

By now, most of the campers at New Rome have stopped their activities. They are now staring, open-mouthed, at…

"Percy Jackson," I whisper, then quickly catch myself.

Because he is standing there, in front of the river Tiber, damp, in a faded orange T-shirt, grimy jeans, and beat-up sneakers. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead from the wetness, and his green eyes are as bright as ever, like they were three years ago, back at Circe's spa.

And in his hands, like he carried her through the river, is a woman. From afar I cannot make that much of her—she seems to be wearing a cloak made of animal hide, and…

"Well, that was a lovely trip!" the old woman says loudly. "Thank you, Percy Jackson, for bringing me to Camp Jupiter."

Percy blinks, still unaware of everyone's stares.

"Percy…Jackson?" I croak again.

Percy must have heard me, because he turns to me now, and to my horror, I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. I gulp. I can see he is studying me, like how one might study an object that they're pretty sure they saw before, and they just can't place when.

I curse myself for showing weakness and glare.

Meanwhile, the old lady cackles. "Oh, yes," she says gleefully, "you'll have so much fun together!"

I stiffen. I _know _that voice. I heard it last night, in a dream.

The woman, who was now on her feet, began to grow. And grow. Soon she is seven-feet-tall, with a beautiful, regal face. A lovely blue dress is draped over her stately figure, as is a goat-skin cloak. In her hand is a staff, topped with a lotus flower.

_Juno Moneta. Of course. _I kneel, and so does the entire camp.

Only Percy Jackson stands, and he is facing the goddess evenly. _Stupid_, I think, but why do I even care?

Percy Jackson now speaks. "Juno, huh? If I pass your test, can I have my memory and my life back?"

The goddess smiles, though I detect a hint of evil behind it. "In time, Percy Jackson, if you succeed here at camp. You've done well today, which is a good start. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Juno then turns to us. "Romans, I present to you _the son of Neptune_. For months he has been slumbering, but now he is awake. His fate is in your hands. The Feast of Fortune comes quickly, and Death must be unleashed if you are to stand any hope in the battle. _Do not fail me!_"

And just like that, the goddess shimmers and disappears.

I then realize that I have to be a leader. I step forward, examining Percy Jackson. "So," I say, making my voice as cold as I could, "a son of Neptune, who comes to us with the blessing of Juno."

Percy regards me thoughtfully. "Look, my memory's a little fuzzy. Um, it's _gone_, actually. Do I know you?"

I pause. This is the question I dread.

Finally I reply. "I am Reyna, praetor of the Twelfth Legion. And no, I _do not _know you." I speak this as firmly as I can, hoping he cannot see pass my lie.

I study Percy's eyes. They are lidded and thoughtful, but otherwise, his expression is unreadable.

I hope he believes me.

"Hazel," I say, turning to the sentry, "bring him inside. I want to question him at the _principia_. Then we'll send him to Octavian." As I speak those words, for the first time I relish Octavian's harshness. "We must consult the auguries before we decide what to do with him."

Percy speaks up, again. "What do you mean, 'decide what to do with' me?"

I now want to smack Percy Jackson. Instead, my hand tightens on my dagger. "Before we accept anyone at camp, we must interrogate them and read the auguries. Juno said your fate is in our hands. We have to know whether the goddess has brought us a new recruit…" I face Percy Jackson with a glare. "Or if she's brought us an enemy to kill."

* * *

I lead them to the _principia. _Apparently news of Percy Jackson, mysterious visitor that he is, has already spread through camp. Even the Lares—House gods who are more like ancestral spirits—have noticed. Now they hover around us, their translucent bodies flickering, giving us (or probably just Percy) fierce glares. "_Graecus!_" they hiss. _Greek_.

I frown, but they don't stop.

But they _are _right. Percy Jackson…well, he's a Greek. And Greeks and Romans have been enemies for the longest time.

We finally arrive at the _principia_. It is an impressive building, all white marble, patrolled by numerous guards. Over the doorway is a purple banner that read _SPQR_—_Senatus Populusque Romanus_. The Senate and the people of Rome.

"Your headquarters?" I hear Percy say.

I turn to him icily. "It's called the _principia_." Then I notice the crowd of people that have followed us curiously. "Everyone, back to your duties!" I command. "I'll give you an update at evening muster. Remember, we have war games after dinner."

The crowd murmurs then departs reluctantly. I hear a few derogatory comments and scowl at the offenders; they shut their mouths and leave.

I now turn to Hazel. "Hazel, come with us. I want your report at what happened at the gates."

"Me too?" Frank says hopefully. I've almost forgotten that he was here. "Percy saved my life. We've got to let him—"

I shoot him the iciest glare I could ever give, and he steps back.

"I'd remind you, Frank Zhang," I say, "you are on _probatio _yourself. You've caused enough trouble this week."

Frank reddens visibly, and fiddles with his _probatio _tag.

I suddenly pity him—bumbling klutz that he is. "Go to the armory," I add, "check our inventory. I'll call you—_if_ I need you."

"But—" Frank protests, then sighs. "Yes, Reyna." He finally leaves.

I begin leading Percy Jackson and Hazel Levesque inside. "Now, Percy Jackson, let's see if we can improve your memory."

* * *

Once inside the council room, I sit in one of the two high-backed chairs. The other, of course, is empty. Jason is still gone.

_He'll be back_, I reassure myself. _He has to come back_.

"So…" I hear Percy say, which brings me back to the present.

Argentum and Aurum bark. "Easy, guys," I say.

They stop growling. I finally address Percy. "They won't attack unless you steal something, or unless I tell them to. That's Argentum and Aurum."

"Silver and Gold," Percy mutters. Then he says, "We _have _met. I don't remember when. Please, if you can tell me anything—"

"First things first," I say quickly. "I want to hear your story. What do _you _remember? And don't lie. My dogs don't like liars." Argentum and Aurum snarled, as if to prove the point.

Percy takes a deep breath and begins telling his story. He was trained by Lupa, all that.

When he is done, I lean forward. "No memory at all?" I ask. "You still remember _nothing_?"

"Fuzzy bits and pieces," he mutters. I wait for my dogs to attack. They don't. I grudgingly decide that he is telling the truth.

I sigh and continue. "Most of what you're describing is normal for demigods. At a certain age, one way or another, we find our way to the Wolf House. We're tested and trained. If Lupa thinks we're worthy, she sends us south to join the Legion. But I've never heard of someone losing his memory. How did you find Camp Jupiter?"

Percy and Hazel then nearly fall over each other, trying to explain. Every time they stop for breath, I check my dogs. They're telling the truth.

"You're old for a recruit," I say. "You're what, sixteen?" Though I know he _is _sixteen.

"I think so," Percy replies.

I tell him that if he spent so many years on his own, he'd be dead, because his scent attracts monsters.

"Yeah," Percy answers humorously. "I've been told that I smell."

I try not to smile. Maybe Percy isn't so bad after all.

I try pressing him about his memory, to no avail. I give up and sigh. "Well, the dogs haven't eaten you, so I suppose you're telling the truth."

"Great," Percy says. "Next time, can I take a polygraph?"

I stand and begin pacing back and forth. Then I tell him why he is a danger—Juno showing up, his being a Son of Neptune, and the strange symbols he wears.

Percy looks dumbfounded. "I…don't know."

"And your sword?"

He takes out a pen from his pocket, then removes the cap. A full-length Celestial bronze sword springs out.

My dogs bark. Hazel yelps.

"What _is _that?" she asks worriedly. "I've never seen a sword like that!"

"I have," I mutter. "It's very old—a Greek design. We used to have a few in the armoury before…the metal is called Celestial bronze. It's deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but even rarer."

"Imperial gold?" Percy says.

I show him my dagger and explain the different types of swords for the Legion. "And your arm…"

"What about it?"

I hold up my own forearm, showing my tattoo. _SPQR, _and a sword and torch, the symbols of Bellona. Underneath, four bar lines signifying four years at Camp.

Hazel shows Percy her tattoo. "We all have them. All full members of the legion do."

"So you've never been a member of the legion," I say. "These marks can't be removed. I thought, perhaps…"

"If he's survived as a loner all this time, then maybe he's seen Jason," Hazel says excitedly. "Have you ever met a demigod like us before? A guy in a purple shirt, with marks on his arm—"

"Hazel," I say irritably, because just the thought of Jason makes me want to vomit. "Percy's got enough to worry about."

Percy, though, seems eager to help. "I haven't seen anyone like you before. Who's Jason?"

I take a deep breath before answering. "He is…he _was _my colleague." The past tense burns my tongue. "The legion normally has two elected praetors. Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, was our other praetor until he disappeared last October."

"You mean he's been gone eight months, and you haven't replaced him?"

"He might not be dead," Hazel says firmly. "We haven't given up."

I grimace. _There's still hope_.

I explain to Percy about the elections, how in five days it will be the Feast of Fortuna.

"You have a feast _for tuna_?" he asks incredulously.

"Fortuna," Hazel corrects. "She's the goddess of luck. Whatever happens on her feast day can affect the entire rest of the year. She can grant the camp good luck, or _really _bad luck."

Percy looks worried now. "The Feast of Fortune…the Gorgons mentioned that. So did Juno. They said the camp was going to be attacked on that day, something about a big bad goddess named Gaea, and an army, and Death being unleashed. You're telling me that day is _this week_?"

"You will say nothing about this outside the room!" I say. "I will not have you spreading panic."

Percy tries to protest, but I cut him off. "We've talked enough for now. Hazel, take him to Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On the way you can answer Percy's questions. Tell him about the Legion."

"Yes, Reyna."

"Good luck with the augury, Percy Jackson," I say as they leave. "If Octavian lets you live, perhaps we can compare notes…about your past."


	3. Flashback

**Thanks for the reviews and follows, guys! :D This isn't really a long chapter, but I hope you like it and review it. :)**

**Chapter Three**

**_"Flashback"_**

_Have I glorified the moments so precious to me?  
Magnified or revised them as I think they should be.  
Perhaps its' not always so clear to recall,  
When we repaint the pictures on memory's wall._

_—The Picture on Memory's Wall, _Ruth V. Shillito—

I am still shaken over Percy Jackson. Because who would just survive something like _that_?

I get up from my high-backed chair and begin pacing the room. Argentum's and Aurum's eyes follow me as I do so.

"He's _back_," I whispered, again. For the hundredth time.

I face Argentum and Aurum. "Why do you think Juno brought him over?" I ask. "Is he an enemy?"

My greyhounds shake their heads.

I sigh. Seeing Percy Jackson brings me back to my past—a place where all was happy one day then horribly torn apart the next. All thanks to _him_.

I hate him. I truly do.

But part of me wants to give him, well, a _chance_.

It is not fair otherwise.

The memories flash through my mind. Hylla braiding my hair. Playing with the other attendants, and…

I feel my knees buckling. My dogs begin barking worriedly, but we are deep inside the _principia_, so it is no use. No one can hear them.

Everything goes black.

* * *

_I woke up to the smell of bacon sizzling in a pan. I opened my eyes._

_"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." Hylla loomed over me, grinning._

_I groaned and hit her with a fluffy pillow. "Hylla, no, I'm still so sleepy!"_

_"You can sleep in another day," Hylla said. "Right now we have to help Circe. She said that an…interesting visitor will come."_

_My eyes widened. "Another male?"_

_"Another male _demigod_," she corrected. "I can't wait!"_

_"Me too!" I got up and smoothed my satin nightgown. It was a light, light pink, long-sleeved, and trimmed with lace. It was fastened by numerous silk bows and little pearl buttons. Circe had given it to me on my last birthday, and I had worn it to bed ever since._

_Hylla smiled. "Now go change and brush your teeth, and be sure to use the whitening strips Circe gave. Then we'll have a yummy breakfast of bacon, sausages, eggs, and orange juice. All enchanted, all low-fat. Afterwards, we go to the spa. Okay?"_

_"Okay!" I smiled, too, ready to agree with anything Hylla, my older sister, said._

_I rearranged the various shampoo bottles. I swept the smooth, hardwood floor. I fed the guinea pigs._

_"Psst."_

_That, without a shadow of doubt, was Hylla's voice. I turned to her. "Hylla?" I whispered excitedly. "Did you—"_

_She grinned in a superior way. "I actually was the one who lead him in. He's actually kinda cute. C.C.'s talking to him now, and you know what _that _means."_

_I nodded eagerly._

_"Well, gotta go and give this girl a tour," Hylla said, and she ran off with a young girl—around my age, maybe, with blond hair and stormy gray eyes._

_Once she was gone I tiptoed near the room, just outside, where C.C.—or Circe—was. _

_Circe was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Her hair was rich and dark and braided with gold. Her eyes were the colour of emeralds, and her face was as delicate as a doll's. Like almost every day, she was wearing an elegant black chiton, with a pattern that looked like shadows were dancing all over it._

_The guy she was talking to was around my age, and Hylla was right. He _was _kind of cute. He had black hair and sea green eyes._

_Well, he wouldn't last like _that _for long. Circe had thought us about how unimportant and insignificant men were, and he deserved that fate._

_Sure enough, she took out a packet of what the guy probably thought was juice mix, and stirred it into a glass of water, until it looked like a strawberry milk shake._

_"One of these, substituted for a regular meal," Circe said convincingly. "I guarantee you'll see results immediately."_

_"How is that possible?" the guy asked._

_Circe then laughed. It was a laugh that sounded lovely, like a peal of bells. "Why question it? I mean, don't you want the perfect you right away?"_

_"Why are there no guys at this spa?" the guy pressed._

_I frowned. It was strange that he didn't believe Circe right away. Most people did._

_Meanwhile, Circe was assuring the guy. "Oh, but there are. You'll meet them quite soon. Just try the mixture. You'll see."_

_The guy hesitated, but Circe kept encouraging him._

_Finally he grabbed the glass and gulped it down. He yelped from pain._

_Circe convinced him some more, until the transformation began._

_No matter how many times I've seen it happen, the transformation will always amaze me. First the guy's fingers began to shrink into tiny furry paws with sharp little nails. The rest of his body grew smaller too—until all that was left of him was a furry little animal. I giggled softly, hoping no one could hear me from my hiding place._

_"_Reet, reet, reet!" _the newly-made guinea pig squealed._

_"A guinea pig," Circe said approvingly. "Lovely, aren't you? Men are pigs, Percy Jackson. I used to turn them into real pigs, but they were so smelly and large and difficult to keep. Not much different than they were before, really. Guinea pigs are much more convenient! Now come, and meet the other men." _

Percy Jackson. So _that's _his name, _I thought._

"Reet!" _the guinea pig protested, its little claws reaching out to scratch her._

_"None of that, little one, or I'll feed you to the owls," Circe scolded. "Go into the cage like a good little pet. Tomorrow, if you behave, you'll be on your way. There is always a classroom in need of a new guinea pig." Percy Jackson the guinea pig squirmed as the sorceress placed him—or was it _it_?—in the cage, with all the other guinea pigs._

_Circe cackled and began explaining to Percy about her other male prisoners. "If you don't want to stay with them permanently, then I'd suggest you—"_

_A girl's voice called out, "Miss C.C.?"_

_I gasped and shrank back into my hiding place. C.C. cursed in Ancient Greek, plopped Percy Jackson in the cage, and shut the door. She hurriedly kicked his clothes underneath her enchanted loom as a girl entered the room._

_It was the girl Hylla had given a tour to. The pretty blond girl with gray eyes. Except instead of being in a ratty orange shirt and jeans, she was now wearing a white sleeveless silk dress. Her blond hair was newly washed and braided with gold; I immediately recognized the intricate plait as my sister Hylla's doing—she was an expert when it came to hairstyles._

_Meanwhile, the blond girl looked around the room and frowned. "Where's Percy?" she asked._

_"He's having one of our treatments, my dear. Not to worry. You look wonderful. What did you think of your tour?" Circe said quickly._

_The girl grinned. "Your library is amazing!"_

_"Yes, indeed," Circe conceded, "the best knowledge of the past three millennia. Anything you want to study, anything you want to be, my dear."_

_"An architect?" the girl said eagerly._

_"Pah!" Circe waved a dismissing hand. "You, my dear, have the makings of a great sorceress. Like me."_

_The girl stepped back and frowned. "A…sorceress?"_

_"Yes, my dear." And Circe demonstrated by holding up her palm. A flame appeared and danced across her fingertips. "My mother is Hecate, the goddess of magic. I know a daughter of Athena when I see one." She paused and smiled. "We are not so different, you and I. We both seek knowledge. We both admire greatness. Neither of us needs to stand in the shadow of men."_

_The girl looked puzzled. "I…don't understand."_

_Circe began convincing her. "Stay with me," she said. "Study with me. You can join our staff, become a sorceress, learn to bend others to your will. You will become immortal!"_

_"But—"_

_"You are too intelligent, dear. You know better than to trust that silly camp for heroes. How many great female half-bloods can you name?"_

_"Um, Atalanta, Amelia Earhart—"_

_"Bah!" Circe closed her fist. "Men get all the glory! The only way to power for women is sorcery. Medea, Calypso, now there were powerful women! And me, of course. The greatest of all!"_

_The girl gasped. "You…C.C. …Circe!"_

_"Yes, my dear." Circe looked satisfied._

_The girl began backing up. Circe laughed and told her not to worry._

_"What have you done to Percy?" the girl asked. I rolled my eyes. It was so obvious that she liked him._

_"Only helped him realize his true form," Circe said matter-of-factly._

_The girl finally spotted the cage of guinea pigs. Her eyes widened._

_"Forget him," Circe said, turning on the charmspeak—something she promised to teach me soon. "Join me and learn the ways of sorcery."_

_"But—"_

_"You're friend will be well-cared for," Circe said, then explained about how Percy would be shipped to a kindergarten class._

_"Let me think about it," the girl murmured dreamily. "Just…give me a minute alone. To say goodbye."_

_"Of course, my dear. One minute. Oh, and so you have absolute privacy…" Circe waved her hand, and the windows were covered with iron bars. She gracefully exited the room, and I heard the locks on the door click._

_I quickly hid behind a potted plant and listened to the conversation._

_Until I heard the girl trying to release Percy._

_I rushed down the hallway where Circe was. "Miss C.C.! The girl—"_

_Circe just smiled. "Oh, I'm ready for her," she said. Then she turned to two other attendants. "Come, and we shall teach Annabeth a lesson!"_

_I didn't witness the fight—yet somehow I knew something was wrong. Very wrong._

_Hylla and I were taken as captives by pirates—until Circe's brainwashing wore off, we learned how to fight, and went our separate ways. _

_Hylla, Queen of the Amazons. Reyna, Praetor of New Rome._

* * *

I gasp. I never had a black out before.

My dogs are leaning over me—I must have slumped onto the floor, unconscious.

The memory of Percy Jackson irritates me again. I get up and walk out of the _principia_. Not surprisingly, Octavian is there waiting for me.

"I have spoken to the auguries," he informs me, "and they have deemed Percy Jackson worthy enough to join our Camp."

"Excellent," I say. "Give the campers an update by evening muster."

"Yes, Reyna," he says. Then he pauses. "Reyna—"

"Yes?" I turn to him coolly.

"Do you know Percy Jackson?"

I freeze—but only for a second. "No, I do not."

"Well," Octavian continues, "I know it's not my place to ask, but, well, you acted like you did."

I give him and icy glare. "Like what? Like I know Percy Jackson? I assure you, I do not," I say firmly.

"Very well, Praetor Reyna. It's just that…"

"Just what?" I say in as cold a voice as I can muster, though I am panicking inside.

"Just…" Octavian shrugs. "It's very suspicious, really, your reaction when you saw him."

"I was shocked," I insist angrily. "Anyone would be."

Octavian has a small smile in his face when he shrugs and says, "Very well, Praetor Reyna. I will see you later."

And he is gone.

Angrily I chastise myself for showing weakness. _I was shocked_. Octavian didn't need to know _that_.

"Percy Jackson," I mutter as I make my way through Camp Jupiter. "We will soon see."


	4. Accepting Percy Jackson

**Thanks for reviewing, guys! Sorry if I haven't updated in a while. Will try my best. :D**

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**Chapter Four**

**_"Accepting Percy Jackson"_**

_Infectious smile has infected tears  
The laughter strikes with spears  
I am not dear and they are not sincere  
Feeling fear  
I must perform  
For when I stop the stage is gone_

—_Acceptance, _Louis Cecile—

The cool, evening wind is refreshing against my face and whips my brown hair around. My royal purple cape billows behind me beautifully. I am on my Pegasus, Scipio—a lovely, peanut-butter coloured mare which the campers nicknamed Skippy—and the creature's occasional leaps and gallops in the air relaxes me. It helps me temporarily forget that I am praetor, that Jason is gone, that Percy Jackson is here…or, all my problems in general.

Yet I still chastise myself. _I am praetor! A praetor does not forget herself!_

Why is it so easy to let go? Because in a few minutes, I will have to resume my iron grip and the stressful duties of being a leader.

_But being a leader is what you wanted._

I take a deep breath. All around me, the legion is assembling. I will _not _relinquish c0ntrol.

The sound of pounding footsteps on the cobblestone distracts me. I crane my head to the side.

Curly dark hair, golden eyes. Beside her, a pale, dark-haired boy. Hazel Levesque and Nico di Angelo.

"Hazel Levesque," I call out, "so glad you could join us." Not exactly a reprimand, but as a leader it will have to do.

The girl knows better to respond. Her dark cheeks are on fire. I hear Octavian snigger—barely audibly—and resist the urge to glare at him.

To rid myself of the thought of _that vermin_, I scan the crowd to find Percy Jackson.

He is standing off to a side of the Fifth Cohort with several guards. Despite the fact that his black hair was still mussed and damp—no doubt he had just cleaned up—and his green eyes were straining with discomfort, he still looked…handsome.

I feel a blush creep up to my cheeks and duck my head before someone like Octavian (gods forbid) sees it. _A leader does not show her innermost feelings._

Not that I had any, for the boy who released the pirates.

And ruined my life. Never, ever, forget _that_.

I focus once more onto the assembly. The Lares go into formation the last, flickering, half-in and half-out of living people before the centurions sort them out.

"Colors!" Octavian shouts.

The standard-bearers step forward in their lion skin capes, holding up poles decorated with the emblems of the cohorts. Finally, Jacob presents the empty pole, and I count to three before the legion sighs with regret at the missing eagle.

I bring Scipio to a halt expertly. "Romans!" I announce loudly, in as formal a voice as I can muster. "You've probably heard about the incursion today. Two gorgons were swept into the river by this newcomer, Percy Jackson. Juno herself guided him here, and proclaimed him a son of Neptune."

The whole legion whirls around to face Percy. I do, too, curious to see his reaction.

He raises his hand. "Hi," he says simply.

I sigh inwardly. "He seeks to join the legion," I continue. "What do the auguries say?"

"I have read the entrails!" Octavian pipes up with a smile. I resist the urge to say _Yes, but not a real lion's one. A stuffed toy. _"The auguries are favourable. He is qualified to serve!"

All of the Campers now shout. "_Ave!" Hail!_

I hear a high-pitched echo from the back, probably the Fifth Cohort. Sure enough, the sound comes from Frank Zhang, apparently a little bit late in the cry for "_ave!_". His brown eyes crinkle in mortification, and almost everyone snickers.

I motion the senior officers to come forward. The most senior centurion is, sadly, Octavian, who asks Percy, "Recruit, do you have credentials? Letters of reference?"

Percy Jackson shifts uneasily. Finally, he replies, "Letters? Um, no."

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Octavian wrinkling his nose and hiding what was no doubt a smug smile. _Of course_, I tell myself. Octavian's family is powerful, with plenty of connections. They have been sending recruits to camp for centuries. _This_, I think, _is Octavian's power trip. Reminding himself and others of his superiority to them._

Now, Octavian heaves a great and regretful fake sigh. It is actually very exaggerated for me. "No letters," he says woefully—as if he really cared. "Will any legionnaires stand for him?"

"I will!" a voice immediately says. I turn towards the direction of the voice to find Frank Zhang. Again. Stepping forward, he says, "He saved my life!"

Murmurs of protest echo throughout camp. I sigh inwardly, and raise my hand for silence.

Once the noise died down, I turn to Frank with a glare. "Frank Zhang," I say in a firm, glacial voice, "for the second time today, I remind you that you are on _probatio. _Your godly parent has not even claimed you yet." I slow down, as if explaining to a child. "You're not eligible to stand for another camper until you've earned your first stripe."

Frank's pale yellow skin enhances the embarrassing red that spreads to his cheeks. He looks as if he is dying of embarrassment—for the second time that night.

Suddenly, Hazel Levesque steps forward. In a calm, clear voice, she adds, "What Frank means is that Percy saved _both _our lives." She pauses, and smiles. "I am a full member of the legion. I will stand for Percy Jackson."

Once again, there are mutters of protests. Why? Hazel Levesque has only gotten her stripe a few weeks ago, she was the death god's child, and a member of the disgraced Fifth Cohort. She was barely eligible, and barely helping Percy.

I catch myself wrinkling my nose and stop because it was something Octavian would do. The sly, blond-haired boy loves to bully people, and I will not be like him. Never.

"Very well," I announce regally. "Hazel Levesque, you may stand for the recruit. Does your cohort accept him?"

Other cohorts begin coughing and sniggering, holding in their obvious laughter at the Fifth, who pounded their shield against the ground—though none of them did it as eagerly as Frank Zhang.

Dakota, the Fifth Cohort's centurion, speaks up, looking pained. "My cohort has spoken. We accept the recruit."

I now turn to Percy Jackson. Despite all he'd done, and feel a pang of pity for him. "Congratulations, Percy Jackson. You stand on _probatio. _You will be given a tablet with your name and cohort. In one year's time, or as soon as you complete an act of valour, you will become a full member of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, and defend the camp with honour. _Senatus Populusque Romanus!"_

The rest of the legion echoes the cheer. "_Senatus Populusque Romanus!"_

I wheel away from Percy on Scipio, glad that _that _was done. "Centurions, you and your troops have one hour for dinner. Then we will meet on the Field of Mars. The First and Second Cohorts will defend. The Third, Fourth, and Fifth will attack. Good fortune!"

A bigger cry goes up, and everyone breaks ranks and rushes to the mess hall. I quickly dismount Scipio and feed her an apple I had hidden in the many folds of my toga. "Good girl," I whisper, as the Pegasus munches up the bright red fruit.

I begin leading her to the stables. No sooner than I do, Octavian—slimy worm that he is—catches up with me. We fall in step together.

"Praetor Reyna," he says, his voice dripping with fake, over-the-top respect. "Again, I thank you for giving me your blessing."

I keep my eyes on the road, clenching my hands together. Finally, I reply, "You're welcome, centurion."

"If I could just ask your opinion…" Octavian's voice trails off lightly, reaching up to stroke Scipio's peanut butter—coloured muzzle. In anger, the mare nudges his hand forcefully away, eliciting a yelp from him. I hide a smile in the darkness and pretend not to notice. _Even the pegasi hate him. Serves him right. _

Suddenly I realize that Octavian has already asked me a question. I blink. "Could you repeat that, centurion? I am afraid I did not hear you well."

He huffs. "I just want your opinion on Percy Jackson."

I take a deep breath before finally replying to that. "In all honesty, I do not distrust him. But I don't trust him, either."

In the darkness, I could swear that Octavian grins smugly. "Praetor Reyna, I will be keeping an eye on him. Don't worry."

My eyes widen a fraction of an inch before I can restrain myself. "What…do you mean?" I ask, trying to sound firm and not uncertain.

He shrugs lightly. "Well, it's obvious that he is very shady. What better reason to be on the lookout for him?"

I stiffen. "That is not necessary. It is hardly fair."

"Hardly fair _to him_," Octavian corrects. He cocks his head to one side. "Anything bothering you, Praetor Reyna?"

I grit my teeth. "No, Octavian."

"Very well. It's just that…well, you've become very tense this pass few days."

I keep all the emotion out of my voice. "Really," I say.

"Really." Octavian sounds very sure. "Ever since Percy Jackson came, anyway."

I freeze. Have I been that obvious? I am about to tell Octavian that I don't know him, then stop myself. I'd sound guilty.

_He's baiting me_, I think. _Finding the chinks in my armour._

"Very well," I finally say after collecting myself. "You may keep a close eye on our newcomer. Nothing to drastic or extreme, of course."

"Of course. Praetor Reyna." Octavian nods vigorously in the darkness. "You're sounding more like the Reyna I used to know now."

I stiffen—again.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to continue my duties. Set up the guards." With one last snake-like smile, Octavian leaves me in the darkness, surrounded by the stables.


End file.
